


The Robin Handbook

by ImBackBoi



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred is along for the Ride, Bruce is a parent who doesn't know what to do, Crack Treated Seriously, Dick/UnintentionalManipulativeJerkOff, Gen, It's actually kind of depressing and sad (to me), Jason/MemoryLoss, RULES ARE RULES FOR A REASON, The Robin Handbook, even if they're arbitrary, some canon mashup-ing, this was supposed to be funny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:33:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24810886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImBackBoi/pseuds/ImBackBoi
Summary: “Since when has there been a Robin handbook?” Bruce asked, constipation (or was that just confusion?) written plainly on his face. “Alfred?”“Quite awhile now, sir,” Alfred replied, “I'd say roughly seven years.”Math was always Dicks thing.“Jason.”“Hmm.” Alfred smiled, “The young master put quite a bit of effort into it.”“That little shit.”
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, The Robins & Jason Todd
Comments: 24
Kudos: 184





	1. No Dick's Allowed

**Author's Note:**

> Because I have no self-control (*cueLauraBrannigan*). Or discipline.
> 
> Premise: Once upon a time... As a prank, Dick told Jason there was a Robin Handbook, when in fact, no such thing existed. Our poor wee Jay-bird, hurt and pissed at being made fun of, created his own... This, of course, has nothing to do with the story until later, but hey.   
> Now, you know.

“You didn't read the handbook, did you demon?”

Damian scoffed.

“As father's blood-son, I have no need of the same rules as you inferior Robins, and ordered Pennyworth to take it away.”

Tim shook his head and addressed Stephanie as she came out of the kitchen,

“He didn't read the handbook.”

“Wait – For real?” She was stunned, “It's like, required reading. You can't be Robin without reading the handbook. _Duke's_ read it.”

“True.” Duke nodded, “Very useful.”

Damian scoffed.

“What handbook?” Dick frowned. There was no handbook. Rulebook. Whatever.

Tim gazed at him solemnly.

“The Robin Handbook.”

“Duh.” Added Stephanie.

“But. There is no handbook,” Dick protested.

“You haven't read the handbook,” Duke stared wide eyed, “That explains _so_ much.” Tim and Steph nodded sagely.

Dick squinted at them from across the breakfast table, unsure if he was still asleep upstairs in his room or if there was a conspiracy. Damian scoffed into his scrambled tofu.

“You need not look so confused, Grayson, it's unbecoming.”

“But, there is no Robin handbook!”

At this point, Tim and Steph began whispering loudly to each other.

“Should we tell him?”

“We can't, it's against the rules.”

“I don't think he'd care.”

“He would. Someway, somehow, he'd find out. It's a bad idea.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Dick began to get impatient. “How come this is the first time I've ever heard of this?”

“Rule number one.” Steph said.

Dick waited for her to elaborate.

Tim sipped his coffee.

And waited.

Steph ate her waffle with gusto.

And waited.

Duke ignored him valiantly in favor of the funnies.

And waited.

“Well?!”

“No Dick's allowed.”

Dick looked at him with such hurt and betrayal that Damian had to look away as he mumbled, “It's rule number one.”

“I knew it!” Steph squealed as Tim hissed, “Traitor.”

The funnies rustled. Dick thought he heard a snicker.

“Alfred,” Dick leaned back in his chair, “Alfred!”

“Volume,” Bruce walked into the dining room, “What's wrong?”

Dick got up and shouted, “ _Alfred!”_

“Yes, Master Richard,” Dick cringed at the old man's tone as he came out of the kitchen, “How may I be of service?”

“I have a question. Actually, Bruce this goes for you too-”

“AddendumA,” Duke sneezed from behind his paper.

“AndB,” Steph achoo'd.

“Did you know there was a Robin Handbook?”

“Keep your traitorous mouth shut, demon-spawn,” Tim growled at Damian, who bared his teeth at the older boy.

“Ah yes. The Robin Handbook.” He gave Dick a piercing look, “I have known about it since its conception.”

“Timmy,” the original Robin turned big sad eyes on number three, “Tim-a-roo.”

Steph leaned over the table and snapped her fingers in Dicks face, “Nope. Rules are rules. Stop trying to bully Tim.”

Dick looked offended.

“Since when has there been a Robin handbook?” Bruce asked, constipation (or was that just confusion?) written plainly on his face. “Alfred?”

“Quite awhile now, sir,” Alfred replied, “I'd say roughly seven years.”

Math was always Dicks thing.

“Jason.”

“Hmm.” Alfred smiled, “The young master put quite a bit of effort into it.”

“That little _shit._ ”

…

_Rule #1. No Richard John Grayson (Wayne?) 's (henceforth referred to as Dick) allowed, under any circumstances, psuedonym, alter-ego or amnesia induced change of character, including and not limited to clones, imposters, shapeshifters, time-travelers, or personages from alternate dimensions or universes. At all. Ever._

_-addendum a. No Bruce Wayne's and or Batman's._

Scrawled angrily beneath the printed lines of neat penmanship:

_-addendum b. Or anyone Bat-related, themed, or allied. The following listed are exceptions to this rule: Alfred._

Jason scowled at the page. Then young teen slipped the paper back into its sheet protector and shut the binder.

“You'll never be Dick Grayson,” he said in a nasally mock falsetto. “Well, screw you, too, BG. I don't want to be Dickhead, I want to be Robin.”

…

_Rule #2: Being Robin gives you magic._

…

“Sign here, please.”

The young teen took the pen and briefly skimmed the contents of the paper. It was... a binding contract? Tim signed his name carefully. His chicken scrawl looked painfully bad next to the flourished cursive of Jason Todd's signature.

“Thank you.”

Alfred took the sheet and slid it into the binder, then held it out for Tim to take.

Tim Drake reverently accepted the binder from Alfred and took it to the table. He never would have thought that making an off-hand comment about needing a Robin Handbook would result in _an actual handbook._

“It's okay that I look at this?”

“Of course, young sir,” Alfred replied, “I would not have brought it to you otherwise. Do take care to read rule number one, it is most important.”

Or binder, in this case. It was a plain, ordinary binder. One of the cheap gray ones a person could get at Walmart. There was absolutely nothing special or remarkable about it. _Maybe that's the point,_ Tim thought as he opened it up and searching for rule #1, _sometimes the best disguise is no disguise._

Tim went to the bar and sat down with it idly flipping through the sheet protector pages. There were sections on various villains and police officers. Clippings of news articles. Rules, of course. Suggestions to be followed divided by person and situation, time, class, school and a host of other things. Cases of particular interest. There were even some short journal entries written in what Tim assumed was Jason Todd's neatly slanted penmanship.

Taking a deep breath, Tim flipped back to the beginning and started reading.

_Welcome to the Robin Handbook. My name is Robin, and I'll be your guide for today. First and foremost, if you haven't signed the contract do so now, afterwords, read rule number one. Then come back._ Tim had already read rule number one, so he continued on, _Now that we've got that covered, let's move on._

_This nifty little thing is made by Robin, for Robin - with the exception of Dick, who is not allowed. It should be noted that I'm writing this for my own amusement and am not actually planning on giving up being Robin anytime soon._

_But you never know, maybe one day I'll go up in a blaze of glory or get eaten by Killer Croc and shat out in the sewers. In that case, Alfred has my permission to do as he sees fit regarding the book and my successors, because lets face it, I replaced Dick, it only makes sense that if I make it to adulthood, the scaly pedo-bait panties probably wont fit anymore._

Tim snorted.

_Moving on. With the notable exception of rule #1, any approved successors have my permission to amend the handbook after close and careful consideration of the contents they're seeking to change._

_Rule number one cannot be changed. As the original author and founder of the Robin Handbook, only I have the power to change, after close and careful consideration, rule #1. And seeing how utterly_ great _the relationship between Dick and myself is, I'm more likely to die first._

Tim stopped reading and stared at Alfred.

Well.

Shit.

_..._

_Rule #3: Robin is no ones side-kick or apprentice, he is Batman's partner. Don't let him, or anyone, forget it._

_Rule #3B: Don't you forget it either._

_Rule #3C: As a natural consequence of being Batman's partner and not his sidekick, disobeying Batman is perfectly acceptable. Sometimes, it's even for the big dumb boob's own good._

…

“For fucks sake, _another_ one?” Stephanie stiffened as one of the officers muttered, probably to himself, but loud enough in his incredulousness. She couldn't blame him though. She _was_ new. And also, like, number 4 after all. “Isn't that child abuse?”

“Hey, kid,” a heavy hand landed on her shoulder and she tried not to flinch, “You doin' okay?”

Stephanie looked up into the mean face of Detective Bullock. He was hugely fat, had a fedora that sagged and dribbled rain, and a toothpick that looked pretty worn out.

“Huh?”

From the handbook, she knew he also had two cats named Sprinkles and Icing, enjoyed black and white movies, and was, wait for, a feather-weight boxing champion in his youth.

“Your first?” Det. Bullock gestured to the massacre in the alley. Stephanie pursed her lips and nodded jerkily, wet hair sticking to her shoulders. “I'd tell you it gets easier, and I wouldn't be lyin', but if it does that's when you know something's starting to go wrong.”

He looked sad.

Stephanie didn't understand, but she nodded anyways.

“Hey, uh, you wouldn't know what happened to – ah, hell, never mind.” The hand suddenly seemed heavier when he muttered, “probably better not to know.”

“ _Robin.”_

Stephanie started to turn but the hand held her firm.

“Listen, kid,” Bullock grunted, “You give him hell. Bastard's got enough enablers.”

“You got it,” Stephanie willed up a sassy grin and the finger guns, “Here's lookin' at you, kid.”

Bullock blinked and cracked a grin.

“All our problem's ain't nothing but a hill of beans in this crazy world.” He ruffled her soggy hair. She scowled. “You'll get that someday.”

“I don't get it _now.”_

“ _Robin.”_

“Casablanca. Good movie. You should watch it.”

“ _Robin!”_

Stephanie waved and sprinted off.

She _would_ give Batman hell. They were partners after all. It was literally in her job description.

Months later, Stephanie watched drowsily as Rick spoke to Lazlo and then to Ilsa.

_“We'll always have Paris. We didn't have it. We'd lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night.”_

_“When I said I would never leave you-”_

“ _And you never will, but I've got a job to do, too. Where I'm going you can't follow. What I've got to do, you can't follow. I'm no good at being noble... but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you'll understand that.”_ Fat tears streamed down Stephanie's face when Rick gently touched Ilsa's face as the woman began to get misty eyed, “ _Now, now... Here's looking at you kid.”_

Stephanie sniffled and wiped her nose with a hand, careful not to disturb the IV in her arm. The video stopped and the screen went black. She blinked away her tears and looked out the window into the night at the foreign landscape.

“We'll always have Gotham.”

…

_'Detective Bullock only looks mean, because if he doesn't, then he'd always be sad'_ was written with purple gel pen on said detectives profile page in the Robin Handbook. Tim sucked in a breath and let it all out in a shuddering woosh. With his red pen, flipped back to the rules.

_Once a Robin, always a Robin._

...

_Rule #4: Robin is never afraid. And if he is (a natural consequence of seeing something totally fucked up and most likely bat-shit insane(ha)), he fakes it till he makes it._

_..._

In the League of Assassins, where he'd been Prince, the only things Damian had ever feared were Mother and Grandfather, and he'd always - _always-_ known what to do.

Here, in Gotham, when the moon was dark and the stars were blocked by smog and the only lights reflecting off the bay were fluorescent, there were rare times when he would quietly admit in his secret heart of hearts, that he had no clue what to do.

Such as when Killer Croc rose silently out of the bay, like an ancient, monolithic beast from the depths of the ocean, water glimmering as it rolled down scales and rippling muscle, with teeth as sharp as his sword, ungodly sulfurous eyes that bore through him, and a laugh deep enough that the hairs on the back of his neck lifted straight and sheer terror took his voice and shook his hands and -

There was nothing like that in the League.

“ _-ob-n c-me -n! Ro-n wh- you?-”_

Grayson's voice over the com startled him and thrust his mind into overdrive. Ignoring the pathetic part of himself that quailed in terror, Damian assumed a defensive position.

What was it that idiotic handbook had said? He hadn't flipped into it very far before handing it back to Pennyworth in disgust. Robin gives you magic? Disgraceful. No wonder two of the previous Robin's had died.

However. There had been another rule lower on the page. One he could apply to this situation, because while Mother had had him trained in how to conquer a larger opponent, she'd never covered _primeval eldritch monster._

“Have you come to meet your doom, monster?” Damian snarled with as much bravado as he could muster, “Or are your survival instincts as small as your brain?”

Killer Croc laughed.

Damian felt it in the curl of his toes to the crawling of his scalp; his heart skipped a beat.

“I'm going to enjoy eating you,” said the monster, “I love the taste of fear in my dinners.”

“-tt-” Damian drew his sword and, thinking of Grayson, grinned. “Bring it.”

…

_Rule #5: Robin is pedo-bait. Don't let B try and tell you otherwise._

…

Duke adjusted his yellow helmet and picked himself up off the ground.

“You're new,” the low class villian whoever-he-is muttered, rubbing his chin. “How come you aren't wearing the scaley panties? I mean, I know it's been awhile, but don't all new recruits start out in the red, green and yellow. Not just yellow?”

“They've been discontinued,” Duke growled. The villian just laughed.

“Nah, I bet they just didn't have any your size.” Then he grinned lewdly and winked suggestively and Duke's stomach roiled, “They'd look great on you. Robin _always_ looks great, if you know what I mean-”

Duke broke the mans face.

“Pervert.” He ziptied the asshole to a lamp post and activated his com.

“Hey, Nightwing.”

He'd already grappled away and was a few rooftops away when the older mask replied, “ _What's up, Signal?”_

“I just got hit on by a bad-guy and it's all your fault.”

“ _Uh...”_

…


	2. The Think Tank

“So, after thorough discussion and much deliberation, this Robin Think-Tank has come to a conclusion.” Duke said in his best lawyer voice. He and the rest of the younger Robins were sitting on one side of the table. Stephanie was beside him, while Tim and Damian sat on opposite ends of Robin line, each sporting some new bruising, “We've decided that the only way you're ever going to be allowed to view, read, or handle the Robin Handbook, is if your relationship with Jason drastically improves.”

On the other side of the table, Dick and Bruce sat, their arms crossed over their chests, unimpressed looks on their faces.

“And, technically, it's in the handbook,” Stephanie added, “But like, not technically a _rule._ ”

Tim picked up, “So, we've laid out some guidelines for you if you want to achieve a better relationship with Jason in general. But, in the end, these are the things that have worked for us and are mostly there for you to take inspiration from and find what works for you.”

Tim slid two sets of print outs across the table. Each set contained one red sheet and one white.

“However, there are also some rules you will want to follow. Those will be on the red sheet.”

“Did you give these to Cass, too?” Dick asked, skimming the white sheet first.

“Uh, no,” Steph shifted, “They don't talk. I think they freak each other out. It's super weird.”

Tim nodded, “Yes. But this isn't about Cass and Jason. This is about _your_ relationship with Jason, Dick. This is about _your_ relationship with your lost son, Bruce.”

The papers in Bruce's hand's crinkled. Duke eyed the mans stony face.

“Of course, should you both decide to completely cut the brute out of your lives completely, I will be most happy to render my services to you-”

Stephanie reached across Dukes chest and shoved Damian off his chair, “Shut up, Dami.”

Damian snarled indignantly and got back on his chair, “One day, fatgirl, vengeance will be mine.”

“That's so adorable!” Dick coo'd, grinning, “It's like you're a mini-batman,” _bam!_ the table jumped and shuddered, “Oops! Carefull with the table, lil' D. Don't want to stub your short little leggies-” _bam!_ “ I mean toesies!”

“What is _wrong_ with you, Grayson!” Damian seethed, looking ready to lunge over the table.

“He's picking on you to distract himself from his anxiety,” Duke said absently, “I have friends from school who do that. Come to think of it, Jason does it, too. But with more man-handling.”

“Is that what that is?” Tim made a face. “I'd call it abuse.”

“Speak for yourself.” Steph snorted.

“Are we done here?” Bruce startled all five of them. It was the first time he'd spoken since the start of their meeting.

“Uh, I guess? Just, keep those in mind. Like. All of them.”

Bruce left, ignoring them all.

“Sooo...”

The four younger Robins stared down the eldest. Unnerved, Dick turned his attention to the papers. The list on the red sheet was surprisingly short (the very first one being, of course, 'do not talk about the Joker') and the list on the white sheet was surprisingly long.

“These things worked for you?” he skimmed the list, “'Talk shit about Nobakov', 'Interact outside the mask'?”

Duke shrugged, “They at least helped us get a foot in the door, you know?”

“'In jokes about Alfred's waffles?'”

“To be fair, they do taste like paste,” Tim defended. Duke, Stephanie, and even Damian nodded in assent.

“'Ask him what it was like being Robin?' That doesn't really strike me as a good thing,” Dick murmured, his brow furrowing. “At least, not for me. Especially considering if I'd been around a little more I wouldn't have to ask. Or be banned from something he obviously worked hard on.”

The words came out a little bitter.

“Then perhaps you should consider asking him about his time abroad,” Damian said quietly. “Ask him to share with you something that he enjoyed. That, too, should be on the list.”

“Thanks, Dami.”

“-Tt-”

A clock ticked in the silence.

“We think the most important one for you, Dick,” Tim spoke, “is actually on the red sheet. 'Do not Push.' Do not push him into talking. Do not push him into hugging. Do not push him into doing anything he says 'No' to. Do not push the age you believe he is on him. Etcetera.”

“We know you, Dick,” Steph said sympathetically to his hurt face, “We know you don't have boundaries with family. We accept this. We _like_ this. But Jason? He's _not_ family, not according to him. Bruce doesn't act like it, either. Heck, you don't act like it half the time. So, you're going to have to keep your tentacles to yourself.”

Dick looked hard at the four.

“Is this secretly an intervention?”

They shared a look.

Duke sighed.

“No. Not really. But, if you really want to think about it that way, you can. I mean, c'mon, I'm the new kid and even I can tell there's some heavy shit here that's affecting all of us. There's a rift, and that rift needs to be repaired, otherwise we're all going to crash and burn eventually, no matter how many new kids you guys bring in. You and Bruce? You're the original's. _Everybody_ looks to your example, learns from your example. It took a while, but we finally figured out that just because you guys keep giving him the cold shoulder, does not mean that we have to, and it doesn't mean we have to treat each other that way as well.”

“...What are you saying?”

Tim leaned forward, “What he's saying, Dick, is that we are rejecting the hypocritical behavior of someone who brings in strays and then neglects them when he doesn't need them anymore. Feeds them just enough to keep them coming back. Emotionally manipulates them into believing that they need him, that they are nothing without him. It's what he did to Stephanie. It's what he did to me. It's what he's been doing to Jason. It's what he'll probably try and do to Duke, once Duke is ready to be on his own.” Their eyes met.

“...and it's what he's been doing to you. You, being you, learned it from him, and have unintentionally done it to others.”

“I don't – I haven't -” Dick balled up his fists. The papers crumpled, “What you're saying isn't true.”

“When was the last time we hung out?” Tim asked suddenly. “Like, just to hang out. Pizza and movies No masks. When?”

“It was just last... Last...”

“It's been over a year.”

Dick looked at the others.

“Dami...” he pleaded.

“I doubt your actions with me have been quite so dubious.” The boy began slowly, “However, you have accepted me as my own person. You attempt to curb my less desirable characteristics (be quiet, Drake.) with careful handling (I will stab you). No ultimatums have been delivered to me and not once have you attempted to throw me into Arkham or jail. I have slaughtered innocents. Todd minimizes his kills to worthless scum and the villainous. Am I not the worse in that comparison? I have never been dunked into the Lazarus pit and my actions have always been my own. I have never had to deal with the pit madness attempting to manipulate my desire for bloodshed.”

“You've been brainwashed since you were a baby,” Dick frowned, “of course I don't hold any of that against you. I mean, I wish it hadn't happened. I wish you hadn't had to kill...”

“Yet, the fact remains that my actions were still my own. I could have spared the children and the mothers, but I did not. I am a monster.”

“No, Dami, you're just-” he breathed, “Jason _knows_ better. He knows killing is never the answer. He knows we don't work like that.”

“So, you refuse to acknowledge the fact that Todd was victim of great evil, is being somewhat manipulated by a supernatural force, and are instead choosing to hold this against him while villifying him at the same time.”

Dick's jaw dropped.

“Where did you even get that- I never-”

“Should we hold your fake death against you? Continue to blame you for it? Or Stephanie for hers?” Tim cut in, “Should we hold on to our grief and anger that you died and that you lied? Clearly, Bruce manipulated you into joining Spyral and the chief blame does lie with him. You ultimately made the choice to go along with it for seemingly good reasons, but that was a lot of pain. A lot of suffering. Should I still hold that against you? I'm still mad about it, about a lot of things, but do I take it out on you? Should I not forgive you?”

Pained, Dick said, “No, Tim. You're allowed to be as upset as you want. I never wanted to hurt you. Jason _has._ Jason still _does_ sometimes.”

“If that were true, this Robin Think-Tank never would have happened. We never would have been able to get close to Jason. Did you think Jason had duped us? Manipulated us? Because that's what Bruce would have done? Because that's what you learned from him? What Jason must have learned from him? From Talia?”

“There's this thing called severe PTSD.” Stephanie said, “Coupled with the pit madness, I think that would make anyone more than a little volatile. Combined with the League setting him up against Bruce...” She shrugged. “It's just like with Ace. Ace is a great dog. He came messed up on Joker-venom and PTSD and did you guys put him down? No. You treated him gently and with kindness. Humanely. Would you call the beat downs Jason gets humane?”

“Ace is a _dog._ ”

“And Jason is _human._ ”

Dick stood abruptly, chair scraping the floor wretchedly, “We're done here.”

“Ask him where he got his scar,” Tim looked up at him and slid a finger across his throat, “This one. Right here.”

Chills crawled over Dick's body.

He left.

…


	3. Rule Breaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dick doesn't follow the rules.

The first five things on the list of suggestions were underlined so many times in purple sparkle gel pen that they probably _should_ have counted as rules. It read:

  1. Stay calm. No Matter What.
  2. Respect his space. No stalking. No hacking his security. No planting of listening devices, tracking devices, bugging devices, etc... And for the love of all that his holy, no nicknames. At least, not unless you're okay with getting a terrible one in return.
  3. Get on His Level/Do not attempt to go places outside of his comfort zone at first. Be prepared to attempt things you are not comfortable with (not murder, but maybe a gun range? Duke did it.) a.k.a. TRUST. (ps – you were a cop. The gun range should be fine. Get over it.)
  4. Let him come to you. Invite him somewhere (?) no pressure if he doesn't show.
  5. Interact outside of the mask.



Okay. So. Dick could do that, even if it sounded a lot like the stuff the animal trainers used to tell him in the circus.

Which abruptly brought back Stephanie's parting argument from the week before and NO.

Dick flipped the papers over and slid them across the table and away from him. They were just suggestions anyways.

He could do this. He was the oldest. He knew Little Wing the best ( _obviously not,_ whispered a traitorous little voice, _otherwise you wouldn't be in this situation)._ Situation? Please. Dick picked up his cell phone and opened the texting app. He could work a situation like nobodies business and-

That sounded an awful lot like manipulation.

His phone shattered against the wall.

“Shit.”

…

  1. Burgers



Jason walked into Batburger like a cat walking into the middle of yard full of dogs. Dick didn't much care for the comparison. Didn't fit with the Jason he knew. _This_ Jason looked around warily, hard and suspicious, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Jaybird!” Dick got up and went to throw his arms around the other man, stopping only when the other man reared back, wild eyed and suspicious. “Awe. What's wrong?”

“What's wrong? What's wrong with you?” Jason snapped, “Now, what the hell do you want that couldn't wait?”

“I just wanted to say hi and get lunch. Hungry?”

Jason stared. His expression of disbelief slowly melted into anger and then swiftly changed into rage.

“I work at night. You called me,” he said slowly, voice deepening, eyes tinting green, “In the middle of the day, fucking up my REM cycles, because you wanted to fucking say 'hi' and get lunch? You said, and I quote, 'It's urgent. Meet me at batburger. Can't wait.'”

“Lunch can't wait. I was hungry little wing, and wanted some company-”

“No.” Jason cut him off with a slash of his hand. Dick tensed, “No. Fuck you, dickhead. I'm not playing your games.”

“C'mon. I ordered your favorite and everything,” Dick snapped back, “I just want to spend time with you.”

“And how would you – No. You know what, no. No, whatever your delusional self thinks it wants out of me is not going to happen. I'm tired of your take-take-take. Leave me alone. We're not brothers, so you what you _can_ take is your hypocritical family bullshit, shove it up your ass, and fuck yourself with it.”

Somebody started clapping. Dick startled and realized the entire restaurant was watching them. Someone even had their phone out.

Fuck.

  1. R-E-S-P-E-C-T



“Little Wing!” Nightwing dropped in through the busted window and landed gracefully on the ground, “What's shakin' bacon?”

“The fuck are you doing here?” Red Hood didn't even turn to look at him. Hurtful. He was holding a gun to the head of man tied to a chair.

“Heard you were in town. Decided to come say hi.”

“Fuck off.”

“Awe, little wing-”

“No respect, you know?” Red Hood said conversationally, poking the bad guy tied to the chair in the head with his pistol. “Little Wing this, Little Wing that – it's like he's trying to undermine my credibility in front of the other kids.”

The bad guys eyes widened as he glanced between the two vigilantes. He shrugged and mumbled something through the gag.

“Sorry, what was that? Oh, let me help you with that.” Red Hood tugged the gag down and Nightwing nearly tossed a wingding at his hand.

“You know, he's probably trying to humanize you.” When he stopped, Red Hood made a go on gesture with his gun, “You're pretty damn scary-”

“Damn right.”

“So, by calling you nicknames, he's probably just trying to make you seem less so to himself so he can have an easier time conversing.”

“Wow, that's a sound theory,” Red Hood finally looked at Nightwing, “What does the defendant say?”

“Little Wi- Red Hood. It's not like that-”

“Whatever,” Red Hood looked back at the criminal and tilted his head, “You're pretty smart. Here I always thought it was because he was trying to reconcile himself to the fact that a monster used to be Robin.”

“Oh. Yeah,” the bad guy nodded, “I can see that. But, you know, if he _had_ reconciled that fact and wanted some kind of relationship, he'd respect you enough to call you by the name you've chosen, instead of mocking you.” He paused, “Wait, you used to be Robin? Huh, okay.”

“You know what?” Red Hood holstered his gun and pulled out a... Dick squinted: business card? Then stuffed in the guys shirt pocket, “I like you. When you get out of the hospital, call this number. You work for me now.”

“Uh-huh-oof!” Red Hood puched the guy in the face.

Nightwing gaped.

3.Got to- Got to- Got to have a little tenderness

Jason gasped and lurched upwards. Dick shot up immediately,

“Hey, hey, hey now, Little wing, easy.” He rubbed circles in his brothers back, ignoring the way they tensed, “It's gunna be okay. You're back at the cave.”

Jerking, Jason looked around with wild eyes -

“No!” he flailed, “Can't-be-here-”

“Easy! You're gunna- shit,” Dick tried strong arming the younger man back into the bed, but this seemed to just back Jason struggle harder. “Cut it out, you're gunna rip your stitches!”

“Out-out-out,” Jason wheezed, pushing against Dick. Blood began oozing through the bandages. If only he'd had the foresight to grab a tranquilizer. If only he'd known how badly Jason would wake up.

“Cass!” Cass' shadowy figure wavered in the doorway, lines creased her face as she frowned, eyes darting between the two men. “Could use some help here!”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head violently before vanishing.

“Stop-touching-me-!”

Pain shot up his nose as Jason's forehead smashed into it. Dick reeled back, blood gushing between his fingers as he held his nose. _Why-? What was wrong with him?_

“ _Jason!”_ Stephanie sprinted into the infirmary and skidded to a halt near Jason, “Hey there, big guy, Stephy is here to save you from the mean ol' big bird!”

Jason panted heavily, half still falling off the bed and half splayed on the floor, on the verge of collapsing completely. Poisonous green eyes (and how had he missed _that_?) zeroed in on Stephanie with frightening intensity.

“It's okay. We got to you of the building before it blew, but we all got caught up in the shock wave. You took some pretty hard hits so we had to bring you back. Crane also got you with some new improved formula, so you're going to be pretty shaky for a while. Oh, and hey, you should have _seen_ Duke put the freak down, he even did it (I can't believe you dared him to say it, too, oh my cheezits, Jason), he literally punched him in the face and said, 'Bitches get stitches.'”

Jason hadn't blinked once since he started focusing on Stephanie.

Thank God for Stephanie.

Stephanie, who smiled in the face of the Lazarus pit and talked gently to it.

Carefully, the compromised young man loosened his grip on the medical bed and slid slowly the rest of the way to the ground. Stephanie crouched with him and plopped her butt on the floor. Dick slowly released the breath he'd been holding.

“Stitches,” Jason rasped.

“Yep. Speaking of stitches, it looks like you popped a few, mind if I check on them? Alfred is upstairs at the moment getting some food and the others are helping him, so it's just me.”

For a hot second, Dick honestly thought Jason was going to curl into himself and maim anyone who approached him, but then the man gently eased an arm away from where it was curled around his chest and Stephanie scooted closer.

“No joke, brother, but you really got into it this time,” Stephanie was saying as she lightly started picking at the bandages, taking it slow, “Like, for reals. Crane thought he was going to use you as his guinea pig. Well, jokes on him.”

“Drugs.” Jason's rough, pit-influenced voice was starting to sound normal again, “Didn't work.”

“Bingo. Whatever result he was expecting? He must have gotten the exact opposite. You _rampaged_ my friend. Full on berserk mode. Not going to lie, there wasn't much left by the time we got there. Serves him right.”

“Never works.”

“So you've said. I've just never seen it before,” she whistled softly, finally pulling the bandages away from Jason's wounds,“Doesn't look to hot. Thankfully for you, Nurse Steph is on your side. Get it?”

Jason blinked and huffed a laugh with a small smile.

Dick was hotly, suddenly, irrationally jealous.

+1

“Hey, Jason.”

“ _What, dickhead?”_

“Do you remember the time we we skiing?”

“ _What the hell are you talking about? And why the hell are you calling me?”_

“It was you, me, and the rockies, remember? No Bruce or Alfred. I just wanted to know if you ever called that Rena girl when we got back.”

“ _...what?”_

“You seriously don't – Come on, it was great. You busted up this drug ring there and mooned over a pretty girl – you honestly don't remember her? You literally told me that she was like a thunderbolt to your heart. It was the tackiest thing I'd ever heard but damn if it didn't work for you.”

“ _Are you high?”_ Jason demanded.

“I might be on the good stuff,” Dick admitted, fiddling with the IV leading to his arm, phone pressed to his ear. “Broke some ribs. Alfred benched me for the rest of the night so I can't go back out. Unlike some people, who just lie about it and go back out anyways.”

Jason snorted. It came through as a burst of static that had Dick pulling the phone away from his ear.

“ _Anyways._ The reason I was calling: I wanted to ask if you'd be up for going back.”

“ _Back_?”

“Yeah. The rockies. You, me, skiing. Probably not Rena.”

“ _Dick_ ,” Jason sighed. When he spoke next, his voice had that tolerant quality that parents use on kids when they wouldn't stop yammering on about their imaginary friends, “ _You're being delusional. We never went skiing.”_

Dick stopped fiddling with the IV.

“You're serious. You really don't remember?”

A disgruntled noise filtered through the phone.

“ _Yes, I'm serious, you moron.”_

No. Fuck that. The one thing they actually did as brothers, and the little shit didn't even remember? Dick laughed.

“What if I could prove it.”

“ _I'm going to be able to spot the photo-shopping, Dick.”_

“What? No! I gave all the photo's to Alfred. He's got them. Ask him about it.” Dick stopped before saying 'or just come over for breakfast and see for yourself, you shit,' but he knew that wouldn't have gone over well.

“ _I will.”_ Jason snapped, “ _And when he proves you wrong, I'm going to burn all your cereal.”_

“You wouldn't _dare._ ” Dick growled, “And he wont! So, your petty threats mean nothing to me, you little shit.”

“ _Fine! So, I'll just call him right now!”_

“Fine!”

“ _Fine_!”

Then the line went dead. Vindictively.

Dick fumed at the phone, hurt and angry that Jason didn't remember their one outing. It had actually gone way better than either of them had expected (much to everyone's surprise, especially Bruce's). They'd had a good time; skii'd, busted up a small time drug ring, flirted with the pretty girls – well, Dick flirted (and maybe a little more once) while Jason had mooned over a pretty girl, Rena, who had been the one to bring the drug ring to their attention in the first place.

It had been their best week.

Better than anything they'd ever done together as Nightwing and Robin.

It had been almost like they really were brothers.

It had been a start. Something that should have happened two years before, _at least._

Dick stared at the phone, willing it to ring. Surely Jason would have called and talked to Alfred by now? Could they still be talking? He still had the photo's didn't he? They didn't get destroyed during the earthquake did they?

Why didn't Jason remember?

…

“So,” Tim steepled his fingers in front of his face. He looked kind of silly. They all did, dressed in the stereotypical MIB suits and sunglasses, “You've finally noticed.”

“You mean this has been going on for a while?”

“Yes. Delicately put,” Stephanie imitated Tim. In fact, all four had adopted the same pose. Even Damian. “One could say that there is something wrong in the House of Jason.”

“The idiot's memory has more holes in it that one of Zsazs' victims,” Damian said dryly. “Coupled with the pits influence, it makes for reminiscing about earlier times questionable.”

“True. He almost shanked Tim the first time he corrected Jason on something during his time as Robin,” Duke nodded. Tim scowled.

“Yes, well, the point of the matter is that his mind is like swiss cheese and is literally booby-trapped with triggers. In fact, he doesn't even remember the Robin Handbook.”

Dick stared at them all.

“And you couldn't tell me this in the first place?”

“What would you have done?” Tim asked, “Tried to solve his problem for him with out talking to him? Confront him about it? Use it as an excuse for his behavior?”

“I-”

“Don't,” Stephanie cut him off, “Don't dwell on it. In fact, don't worry about it. At all. The things Jason can't remember? They're little things, to him. Unimportant. Things that only happened once. Things that didn't really matter – _to him._ They're not life-changing events that he's forgotten. To him, these are things that aren't going to affect him in the future.”

“However.” Damian continued, “The human brain is programmed to remember the bad things over the good as a form of survival. So, the things he does remember from before, especially the traumatic things, are greatly exasperated due to the influence of the Lazarus Pit.”

“Did he tell you these things?”

Duke smiled and produced a notebook and slid it across the table. It was purple with a fox on it.

“No. But you could say that we've started a different kind of handbook for our own observations and conclusions.”

The younger Robins stared at him as he flipped through the pages, noting their titles. Things Jason likes. Dislikes. Triggers. Foods he can cook (here, Dick noted some especially exotic fare). Why Jason was pissed off @ XXX. Quotes (“Oh my goodness gracious, I've been bamboozled!”). Things Jason doesn't remember. Things he does.

“What's your plan if he finds this?”

Steph took the notebook and flipped to page one, tapping it twice. “The truth.”

_Dear Jason,_

_If you're reading this, please don't get angry. We are keeping notes on you because we love you and want you to be our brother and are desperately trying not to piss you off in the process, which, since you've now found this notebook, might not mean much. Sorry, not sorry._

_Please don't kill us much._

“...Love, Steph, Tim, Duke,” Dick's brows rose, “Damian, Titus, Ace, and Alfred (the cat).”

“They are quite fond of the brute,” the boy sniffed.

_Ps – you are my beloved Grandson, and I am proud and happy that you are alive and with us today. I expect there to be no bloodshed in my home. Take it out side. - Love, Alfred (the man)._

_..._


End file.
